Here, There, and Elsewhere
by Ambrelle Shirak
Summary: Post-IDW Comic Continuity. Light AU. Non-linear storytelling. "Elsewhere" follows moments of Megatron's two centuries in the Functionist Universe. "There" glimpses the aftermath of his trial on New Cybertron, while "Here" speculates to what may befall the crew of the Lost Light in their alternate universe.
1. There 01

_These are the days that bind you together, forever_

_And these little things define you forever, forever _

\- "Bad Blood" by Bastille

_**THERE**_

"Er... Literally nothing happened. We flew past some planets and _talked_." Whirl was genuinely confused why everyone was so damned happy. It was the last flight, the last hurrah, the last.. the last... he wanted to put his foot down and demand more time. But Ultra Magnus Law-Keeper-Pants was already adamant about getting back.

It was Megatron, of all bots, to answer him. "Yes. And I wouldn't have changed a thing. Right, Flare?" As he turned halfway to his other side, he noticed she was missing. A quick scan of the bridge did nothing to quell his mounting alarm. No where did he catch the silver flash of her folded wings or the smirk he'd grown so accustomed to. As the banter continued on around him, Megatron rose slowly, and headed towards the habitation suites.

Concern mingled with annoyance in equal parts. Flare never wandered off just for the sake of wandering off. Either her attention had been caught by something, or she had simply hit a sensory saturation level. Whatever the case was, Megatron felt it was his fault. He'd asked her to come with him, on a ship that was the identical to the one they'd spent the greater part of two centuries together on, but with a crew of strangers. All because he wanted her to be a part of this world with him, as much as she was in the other one.

Hab Suite Number 113. His room in both universes, a parallel constant that he'd felt appropriate. The door had been left open, though he'd not ventured this way during Rodimus' _Lap of Honor_. Though the room was ostensibly his, though the door was left open and inviting, he still stopped at the threshold, knocking lightly on the wall to catch Flare's attention.

She was sitting on the circuit slab, hands tucked between her legs in a familiar position for her. How many times had they passed a night deep in conversation seated side by side? How many times had he been roused from rest by Flare seeking company to dull her nightmares? When she looked up, her smile was far more an invitation to him than the open door ever could be. As he sat beside her, he relished the familiar comfort of her presence, content in the friendship that enfolded them.

"You wandered off on me," he scolded lightly, tapping her far wing strut to get her lean closer.

With a slight shift of her shoulders, the struts folded more compact, allowing her to lean her head against him. Flare's feet began to kick idly, a certain sign that something was on her mind. "It's... it's almost too much, y'know? We _won_. The Council's _dead_. And.. and I thought I'd feel..."

"Different? Vindicated? At peace?" As she nodded, Megatron felt his joking smile soften at the edges. He had long worried over this for centuries; so many of their conversations had been trying to help her reconcile those feelings. In the end, he'd failed her. She was drifting and unmoored. And it would only get worse.

"I just... I feel lost. I don't know what to do from here..." She sighed, and tried to stop herself from kicking her feet, by crossing them at the ankles, only to swing them together as one unit. "Or how to do it without you, Em."

For a moment, he couldn't bear to look at her. It was just going to get worse. His trial awaited him at the end of the Lap of Honor. The inevitability that he would be found _guilty_ was not a reality that Flare wanted to face. He'd never kept his past secret, never lied about four million years of war staining his hands. But Flare, like so many others of the AVL, chose to weigh his deeds among them, and their personal experiences over the stories of a war that had never happened in their universe.

He knew if he gave in now, and really told her how he cherished her companionship, that he'd only be making things that much worse. "If I ask you not to come to the trial-"

"You can ask me whatever you want, but the choice is ultimately mine." She interrupted his question by throwing his own words back at him. When he glanced down at her, she wore the smirk that he'd come to know. But it faded when their eyes met. "Em?"

Something in her face made him pause. Something in her tone made him want to take back the minutes that he'd spent sitting with her just now. Go back to the doorway, start it all over. He caught himself before reacting badly, mastering his features into the impassive mask that he needed to cope with this. Silently, he begged her not to continue down that track. That it would lead them both to ruination.

Suddenly, Flare looked away. Her agitated legs became still, as an uncharacteristic scowl crossed her face momentarily.

"I miss Pax." Those were not the three words Flare needed to say, but they were the three words that escaped her nonetheless. "I miss his unrelenting optimism... that silly, unwavering faith in the inherent _goodness_ of others. I even miss his dumb faceplate."

"Flare..." Empathy cracked his voice. He missed Orion Pax, the Pax of the Functionist Universe, as well. He'd told her of Optimus, of course, but the Autobot leader was a far cry from the cop-turned-revolutionary they'd both held dear.

"I keep telling him I'm _trying_... trying to stay positive, trying to hope for the best.. but it's so damned _hard_, Em... Every time I think I've got it..."

Megatron broke his promise to himself just then. Turning to her fully, he wrapped both arms around her and just held on. Primus did not give them adequate outlets to grieve through, even almost two centuries later, they both still felt the loss of Orion Pax as if it had only happened yesterday. Maybe, if he held on tight enough, for long enough, Flare wouldn't feel like she were breaking apart.

For a while, they simply sat in silence, holding onto one another, neither saying what they were thinking, but remaining silent, believing the other didn't need to hear it. Eventually, the silence was interrupted by a bright cheerful tone from the communications hub in the suite, a sound that at first, they both ignored. As it continued incessantly, Megatron was forced to reluctantly release Flare and cross the room to answer it.

"Stop moping, co-captain and get back to the bridge! We have a pressing vote to take!" Rodimus sounded diabolically cheerful for someone who was about to give up his ship and his dreams to satisfy the future of New Cybertron.

"What pressing vote?" Megatron asked at first. "No, wait, don't tell me just yet. I'd rather hear it from you in person. Let me gather Flare and we will be there presently."

"You'll like this, Megs! Promise!"

At least Rodimus hadn't gotten juvenile, Megatron mused as he turned back to Flare. As she usually did when Rodimus called him _Megs_, she was wearing a half-smile of amusement. He found himself echoing it, as he approached her once more.

"Apparently, there is a pressing vote we must attend. We should go, and... you should give Rodimus a chance. You may rather like his particular brand of annoying optimism." Megatron offered her a hand, fully expecting her to refuse the help as she had so often in the past. But this time, the Camien surprised him, sliding her fingers into his, before she hopped down from the slab's edge. As he guided her out of the hab suite, back towards the bridge, he both thrilled, and lamented, that she didn't let go.


	2. Elsewhere 01

_God, I want to dream again__  
__Take me where I've never been__  
__I want to go there__  
__This time I'm not scared_

\- "Unbreakable" by Fireflight

**ELSEWHERE**

"Clicker, are you certain about this?" Even lowered, even quiet, Megatron possessed the timbre of a natural orator, a smooth tone, an even delivery that hid a measure of his truth feelings. It was a trait that Clicker both admired, and was jealous of, in the same instant. The question was inserted into a momentary pause, as the kept to cover to allow the pair of skyspies buzz overhead. It was part of their regimented and and predictable patrol route in this sector.

Clicker didn't answer at first, watching the drones for any sign of a deviation from their normal pattern. As the pair took a left turn at the glass spires marking the entrance to the residential district, he knew the jammer was still working.

"About what? The path? Or the refugee?" Despite his best intentions, the laserpointer came across as cross, and frustrated. But it wasn't directed at the universe-displaced Cybertronian looming over him. Clicker's issue was a general malaise brought on by the ever-more dire situation his beloved planet was falling into. "The target is supposedly hiding out in the old canals. He was last spotted over there, almost in Dead End. It is probably the one place that the Council overlooks.. regularly. And this is our best path in."

Since his arrival, Megatron had turned the Anti-Vocationist League from a passive, but vocal minority into the beginnings of a proactive and hopefully effective thorn in the Council's collective side. Clicker was a tremendous boon: despite his frustrations and his borderline-disillusionment with hope, he truly wanted to grow the ranks of the dissident. None of them were cut for outright war. And Megatron had learned the folly of violence as a first resort. The lesson was still hard and bitter one to swallow.

Before Megatron decided which tact to use, the data-slug with them, Consignus, darted across the street. The way was not empty, but the quickness that the little bot moved with gave what few pedestrians braved the streets time to lower their eyes. Clicker glanced back at Megatron only once, his long, narrow face taut and scowling. Then the laserpointer darted across, leaving Megatron to unfold from his crouch and follow.

It burned his sensibilities to see the populace reduced to averting their gaze. The Council brewed the fear like a fine vat of engex. They carefully cultivated all the reasons, and wrote them on enormous signs scattered all around every city. Rodion was not spared the garish facelift. With their treacherous eyes down, the population avoided spying on one another. A tiny flicker of dissent among the general people.

It was a flame and fire ripe for the fanning, but Megatron held back from doing just that. He'd learned the folly of that choice. How quickly a fire could rage out of control. He was just as guilty as any other for fanning the flames of four millions years of madness.

He wouldn't do it again.

An overhead walkway marked the edge of Rodion's seedy alleyways and forgotten streets. While the rest of the city rose above them, here in the darkness of the Dead End, a bot could be almost invisible, if they knew how. Cast off rubble from above had been turned into make-shift shelters; metal sheets leaned up against existing buildings to create a tumble-down shanty-town in the middle of opulence.

The social stratification made visible. Lower class living in squalor below, making due with the cast-offs of the upper class living above them in splendor.

Despite how horrifyingly similar the streets were, they were also jarringly different. There were no junkies overdosing on circuit speeders, no escapists seeking a better life in a virtual reality. This Dead End was home to those citizens who barely eked by in their existence, the lowly janitorial class, and the only marginally higher data-clerks.

Curfew was close. The reminder came from Consignus, the data-slug fretting and worried about being caught out after clampdown. Clicker's pace picked up, as muffled sounds began to become clearer; sounds that were not generally associated with any kind of _healthy_ interaction. If it were a brawl, the fight sounded decidedly one-sided.

Two Construction-class bots, hazard yellow stripes reminding Megatron poignantly of those that Terminus still wore, appeared to be gleefully demolishing one of the ramshackle structures. A smaller figure huddled within the debris field, folded in upon itself so neatly that it seemed almost part of the junk surrounding it.

Clicker flicked on his laser light, a ploy that resembled a sniper's targeting reticile with disconcerting accuracy. The light played briefly over the back of the larger, bulldozer bot before catching the attention of the smaller as it came to rest on his chest.

Before alarm could be raised, Megatron closed the final distance, and intercepted the falling fist of the 'dozer.

"There will be no beating tonight," he growled as the constructor turned to face the new voice.

Megatron was intimately aware of the Council's camera's behind the unwitting bot's eyes. Despite knowing the timer had begun until their actions were noticed, that snarling, seething ball of hate inside Megatron desperately wanted the Council to see him. For them to know the face of their ultimate demise. He exerted force on the constructor's arm, but before he found voice to the threat boiling inside him, he was distracted by the spatter of energon on the brute's knuckles.

Blue. Electric blue.

Not a natural color for a Cybertronian, but it immediately brought to mind the likes of Nautica, and Velocity. With a hard surge, Megatron heaved on the dozer's arm, sending him staggering back a few feet, and all but knocking his smaller, crane-bearing compatriot off of his vertical base. Letting all that bubbling, twisting rage surface, Megatron drew himself to full height.

"If I were you... I'd _run_."

They didn't need know the threat was hollow, that Megatron would only defend himself if attacked. The displaced Decepticon's size, the presence of his secondary-mode's barrel over his shoulder, and the carefully practiced menace in his tone gave the two thugs a moment's pause. It was just enough time to drive the threat home with a subtle shift in stance, the sliding of one leg forward just slightly.

The smaller of the two tugged on the dozer's arm. "C'mon, Scupper.. not worth the jail time!" Glowering, as his companion turned to flee, Scupper backed slowly down the alley until it was clear that there would be no chase. Only then did he turn and vacate deeper into the dark alleys of the Dead End. Megatron tried to dismiss the notion that they scuttled off looking for easier pickings.

Clicker was already kneeling with the victim, who was still trying to hide unsuccessfully from the attention. Ignoring the laser-pointer's speech was easy; he'd heard it more than a hundred times in the few years he'd been stranded, and it never changed. But Clicker taking point, allowed Megatron a few moments to study the figure huddled in the grime and debris.

His armor was mismatched, cobbled together from whatever lay nearby it seemed. The way the plates overlapped, the bulky nature of it, it was all obviously designed to hide the form, and therefore the function, of what lay beneath. He didn't move much, which led Megatron to wonder if he even could move after that beating.

Consignus got his attention with a few taps, and as soon as Megatron looked down at him, shook his head solemnly. The question was one that Megatron always asked, and the facial analyst had begun to anticipate. _Is he familiar?_ Like the plucky Rewind of his own universe, Consignus loved to catalog, but Consignus preferred keeping a database of faces rather than history. His unfamiliarity was happening more and more frequently though. The Council was covertly cold-constructing, using the assassinated Senate's stockpile of photonic crystals. Hundreds of new faces every month.

Which brought Megatron's thoughts back fully around to the color that had decorated the constructor's fists.

"Clicker," Megatron tried to interrupt the laser-pointer's monologue. It took two more repetitions of his name, plus a heavy hand on the scrawny bot's shoulder to get him to stop speaking. "Find us an egress, if you would? Something close by, multiple jumps if you have to. Consignus, make sure the scrambler is still working, and see if we have any reported movement in our direction. Being here in the Dead End doesn't mean that we're going to be ignored."

As the two smaller bots moved away to follow his requests, Megatron settled before the refugee, lowering himself into a crouch in an attempt to be less intimidating. He never knew how well the tactic worked. Instead of speaking right away, the revolutionary waited. Thus far, the refugee had remained silent, face down, and hidden in the shadows. The longer the mutual silence stretched on, the more Megatron wondered if the bot had, in fact, slipped offline while they were distracted.

Without looking away, Megatron raised a hand to ward off Consignus' report. And that movement proved to be the trigger.

Perhaps thinking that attention had been diverted elsewhere, perhaps growing too curious for his own good, the refugee raised his head. _Her_ head, Megatron corrected himself silently. The brilliant blue energon had indeed been drawn from her face: her lower jaw freshly broken from this most recent beating. Microfractures littered the rest of her features, even splintering over the surface of one eye, dimming and clouding her optic so badly, he doubted she could even see on that side. She'd done well to disguise herself, the slipshod armor making her appear not only bulkier, but blockier than the more elegant shapes he'd learned to associate with the female Camien's he'd had the pleasure of knowing.

As a matter of pride, once he'd found her gaze, she refused to look away.

"When did Caminus make contact with Cybertron?" The question was mused, but specifically chosen to knock her off guard. It caught the attention of Clicker and Consignus as well, as they came to flank him curiously. Megatron expected a reaction of shock from her, but only pain showed on her features. "I suppose it's cruel of me to question you when you're in such pain.." he continued barely a beat later. Unfolding his hand, he presented it to her as a choice.

"You heard _most_ of Clicker's speech." Megatron continued unaffected by the grumpy sound from the laser-pointer. "Let me offer you a choice. Let us help you."

She moved then, raising a hand to cup the shattered joint of her jaw for just a moment. He could imagine what she was thinking: _there is no choice to make here_. But there was. As she slid her fingers into his, she was making a choice to trust them, and to trust that were would be safety, and no pain at the end of this journey. Despite the dire situation, Megatron felt himself smile as her hand curled around two of his fingers.

"It will be faster, and safer, if you allow me to carry you." She'd barely nodded before Megatron was moving to scoop both her and her armor up. By weight alone, he knew it wasn't remotely functional in any way. By the inarticulate sound of pain she made as he lifted her, he knew there were more injuries hiding beneath the haphazard plates. "Let's go, Clicker," he hoped the stress didn't reflect in his tone. "Consignus, make sure Kaput and Anode know we have an injured."

)~( )~( )~( )~( )~( )~(

Nine-of-Twelve's city had been demolished, the refugees scattered across Cybertron into smaller, more active cells of resistance. But the core leadership group remained together, making a comfortable attempt at a base of operations in the abandoned energon mines beneath Nova Point. The Council had abandoned it less than a year ago, moving onto more fruitful ground in their quest for materials. The first of four massive thruster constructions was almost completed, despite the AVL's constant harrying of the project. Rumor had it before long, the Council would be harvesting and recycling entire cities to furnish the project further.

While they were dealing with what salvage they could, seated around a table that had once been a door.

"I'm not _being_ evasive," Anode was defending herself, quite emphatically. "I've been to Caminus, with the Primal Vanguard. It's where I trained as a blacksmith, but we were recalled before I could finish. I had to learn the rest on my own. How is that being evasive?"

Kaput wheeled himself back and forth across the room, agitated by the raised tone being taken with him. The medic had the bedside manner of a bug, but his study of spark and spark nature is what had earned him the obsolescence. "That is not what you're avoiding. It's the other thing.. How can you know that?"

"That she's _mutilated _herself?" Anode's disgust at the idea was a verbal echo of the overall mood in the room. "Aside from the tremendous amount of pain she's in, and the fact that every other aspect of her secondary anatomy suggests that she _should_ have wings and doesn't? Oh, I don't know.. why don't we go ask the poor sod?"

Kaput backed into the curve of a rough wall so hard he almost fell over. The medic was as exhausted as Megatron was. Not only was he in the unenviable position of teaching a former miner, gladiator, and tyrannical despot how to _save_ lives, but he'd also just saved one. Moving the Camien without being aware of the full extent of her injuries hadn't been Megatron's brightest move. With his chin resting on the back of his interlaced hands, Megatron continued to listen.

"Anode, be at ease, please," Nine-of-Twelve tried to broker the peace. The rogue Council member was burning with questions of his own, being the Inquisitor was his function, and despite his desire to have _choice_ in the matter, he found himself endlessly returning to his known function. "Kaput, please... sit, in your best estimation, how long until we can speak with her?"

Scowling, Kaput rubbed a hand down his face, before wheeling himself back over to the rock that served as a makeshift chair. "Who knows. Her physiology is.. unique. Any one of us running on reserves as low as hers were would have been spark-starved and dead weeks ago."

"The Caminus I knew had very little in the way of resources." Megatron offered thoughtfully.

The cyclopean eye of the Inquisitor turned to him, one hand gesturing as if to offer those words directly to Kaput. "It is likely the same holds true for this universe. The question begs to _when_?"

"Does that ultimately matter?" Clicker counter-pointed, a question which Nine-of-Twelve answered with a shrug. When didn't matter, Megatron silently agreed. If there were other Camiens hiding out among the population, they too deserved to be found. "What matters is what we do now," Clicker had continued to pontificate while Megatron mulled over the possibility of more Camien refugees, and how adding them to the ranks of the AVL could prove a much needed martial boost.

Everyone, including Nine-of-Twelve looked to him for direction. "We do what we have been doing. We give her a choice, an option, and we respect what she decides." Placing his hand flat on the table, Megatron began to stand. "Rouse me when she wakes; see to her comfort in the meantime. And, no more talk of this until we've spoke with her."

Nine-of-Twelve rose as well, striding to flank Megatron's left. The Inquisitor often walked with him to discuss matters, and Megatron knew that no matter how weary he felt, this would always be a habit of the disgraced Council bot. As soon as they'd left the large, common area behind, Nine-of-Twelve folded his hands behind his back while walking, a customary gesture of his before broaching a delicate subject.

"I received a message from Orion Pax today," the Inquisitor started softly.

"You have my attention."

"His position is becoming more tenuous. He believes they suspect a mole within the Enforcers. It is high time we consider pulling him out... before things get too dangerous." Nine-of-Twelve had a point, a good point, though it grated Megatron to admit it. He'd connected with Pax, been given a second chance to cultivate a friendship, instead of turn to odds with the cop. There would be no need for _Optimus Prime _in this universe.

"Do you have a proposal?" Megatron turned down a side-tunnel. The mines beneath Nova Point were as familiar to him as his own hand. Secretly, he thrilled at the idea of bringing Pax to his side, to be able to stand with him, instead of against him. It had been all he wanted in his idealistic youth. Time and experience had tempered that idealism with reality. Without Pax serving as mole in the Enforcers, the AVL would be a far weaker force.

"We fake his death." Nine-of-Twelve stated without hesitation. "It's the only way to be sure the Council can't compromise his integrity."

It was a euphemism. Pax was one of the dwindling few who's eyes were still their own. The Inquisitor was putting Megatron's mind on a tact that would not allow him to rest after all. There was no way he would be able to quiet the nature of these thoughts fully. But, at least it was a familiar situation, thoughts restlessly twisting in the mines. Terminus would urge him to write them down. No matter how badly Megatron wanted to seize the reality of standing together with Pax, he had to quell that enthusiasm, carefully and thoroughly.

"We have to be sure the Council hasn't gotten to him _already_. If he even thinks for a moment that he's suspect... expendable location, full scan, the works." Megatron stopped before the room he'd claimed as his own. No other knew that it was the same rough cut chamber that he'd shared with other miners millennia ago.

Nine-of-Twelve tilted his head curiously to one side, resisting the urge to question the level of caution. Instead, he moved on to the next level of concerns that very same caution raised. "And your new refugee?"

An ugly thought wormed its way through the rest of the noise. He was being challenged. But it was Nine-of-Twelve's place to challenge. He'd recognized Megatron as a far more adept leader, but kept his place as a voice of contradiction and reason. The question was not _meant_ to be challenging. Depriving that thought of fuel allowed it to shrivel up, but not before Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Already cleared. After the first jump." Megatron didn't admit to the scare that the Camien gave him when she slipped offline, when he thought he'd lost her completely because of his carelessness. "Now... if you'll excuse me."

Nine-of-Twelve nodded, and without further word struck off back in the direction they'd come. Before Megatron shut the door on the rest of the crazy universe, he allowed himself a moment of irritation that the bland, octagonal heads of the Council were so hard to read.

)~( )~( )~( )~( )~( )~(

"_Murderer!"_

Megatron braced himself for impact the moment he heard the cry, but quickly realized that it wasn't, in fact, for once, directed at him. Nine-of-Twelve had entered the infirmary just to his left. Just by putting out his arm, Megatron shifted from penitent to protector as he halted the furious lunge of the stubborn new refugee. Without the shoddy armor, and cleaned up of the grime of the streets, she seemed almost dainty. One arm was enough to stop her without effort. Over his grip, she stretched out, reaching for the Inquisitor.

"You need to leave," Megatron warned him, as he lifted the refugee off her feet to a shout of '_Put me down!_' "Now."

Ignoring whatever protests the Councilor may have made, Megatron carried the unruly Camien deeper into the infirmary before sitting her down on a circuit slab. Kaput had vacated, as he often did when confrontations began around him. No sooner had the door closed behind Nine-of-Twelve than the Camien rounded on him.

"You _lied_ to me! You took advantage of my situation, just so that one-eyed, theocratic _ninnie_ could... could- and now you're _smiling_?!"

Megatron was surprised to find she was right. He was smiling. The hotheaded impulsiveness reminded him of Rodimus. Unable to compose the smile away, he held both hands up, palms out, in a universal sign of surrender. "If you'll allow me a moment, I can explain."

She seemed to debate, looking around the infirmary and finding no other exits than the one he'd entered by. She even looked upwards, setting a confirmation note in his mind that perhaps she did once possess an aerial alt mode. But there was nothing to indicate any manner of secondary anatomy. She looked like she'd stripped herself of kibble before adding the makeshift armor. As she continued to debate her answer, Megatron fetched a simple stool. As he sat, he ceded the height advantage to her. Though, if she chose to stand, like so many others, she'd lose that same advantage despite his seated place.

As he settled, taking his time getting comfortable, he found her thoughtfully watching him. Her fingers absently traced the area just below her newly repaired eye. He noted, kind of absently, that they burned a darker tone of gold than he'd expected at first. She seemed to have calmed, and she was certainly fully rational. He'd not blame her in the moment for mistrusting any of this situation.

"Nine-of-Twelve is a traitor to the Council," Megatron began. As a look akin to abject horror crossed over her features, he paused, head tilted curiously, to see if she would let her thoughts out.

"Oh, _slag_..." The vehemence that she swore with wasn't muted by the softness of the tone. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "There's _twelve_ of them?"

"Mmhm." She was engaging with him, asking questions. She could be rationalized with. "The Grand Functionist Council. Some time ago, Nine-of-Twelve defected due to an ethical schism. Since then, he has been aiding and providing support for those deemed obsolete or threatening to the Council's grand plan. I would imagine that you fit into the latter category... I apologize, I'm afraid I haven't caught your name."

She was considering the information thus far, and because of that, prompting for her name worked. It was an absent-minded answer. "Flare."

"I surmise, Flare, that you weren't the only Camien to make contact with the Council.. just the only survivor." Megatron's observation caught her wandering attention again, her fingers halting in the unconscious exploration of the repairs given. She'd made it from her face to her shoulder.

"How do you even know about Caminus? We didn't even know Cybertron was real until that blasted _moon_ flew by."

The pieces were beginning to come together for Megatron. So they'd picked up Luna 2 on it's way back to destroy Adaptica. A story of first contact that was vastly different from the one in his own universe.

"I am... extremely well-traveled." The smile began to sneak over Megatron's features again, roused once more by memories of Rodimus and the absurd crew of the _Lost Light_. "So, you followed Luna 2. How many in the delegation? What happened?"

At those questions, Flare slid off the circuit slab and began to pace. As she turned her back to him, he spotted what Anode had called her mutilations: jagged edges of plating where any sensible flier would keep wings folded against the back. She walked to the opposite side of the circuit slab, debating on what to tell him, and what to keep to herself.

"There were five of us," she finally stated. "When... when we tried to talk to those... those.."

"One-eyed ninnies?" Megatron supplied quietly as she stumbled, using her own term, which he found quite fitting. When she glanced in his direction, he caught was could have been a smirk, but she just nodded, before looking away again.

"Yeah, when we tried to talk to _them_, they just.. opened fire. Spewed some garbled junk about how _we _ were an affront to Primus... When Chromia fell, I ran." For a moment, she swayed on her vertical base. He knew what was happening. Her memories were assaulting her. Her voice became so quiet, he almost missed the words. "I could hear them screaming as I ran..."

Rising, Megatron circled around to stand behind her, before resting both hands on her shoulders, hoping the weight was comfort and stability both.

"I have not lied to you, Flare. You are safe here. And you do have a choice to make. Not now, but eventually. Count yourself among the refugees, and keep your head down, or... stand up, and show the Council that they cannot choose your life for you."

Flare tipped her head back, looking up at him. She barely stood to his chest, not that there were many bots among the AVL larger or broader than he. The gold hue of her eyes appeared to darken, even as Megatron released her shoulders, and stepped back. He figured he knew what she would choose before the week was out.


	3. There 02

_All this time I was finding myself  
And I didn't know__I was lost_

\- "Wake Me Up" by Avicii

_**THERE**_

He looked small, and defeated, sitting behind bars of shimmering energon, with his hands hanging between his knees. His thoughts were turned so far inward that he failed to notice the arrival of his visitors. Wearing the full _Ultra Magnus_ armor, Minimus keyed the unlock code into the cell, but waited to confirm it until Flare nodded. Megatron only looked up from his clasped hands as the auditory buzz of the bars cut out long enough to admit her.

"Twenty minutes," Minimus reminded her gently, before energizing the bars behind the Camian. Minimus paused for a moment, before resolving to leave them in privacy.

Megatron rose, automatically reaching out to Flare as soon as solitude settled around them. Without hesitation, she embraced him. It had been days since his arrest, days that she'd fought for the right to talk with him. Pushing him away slightly, Flare squared her shoulders, and adjusted the fold of her wings against her back.

"I know that look," Megatron mused thoughtfully. As odd as it was, he hoped for one last time to see the brilliant energy of Flare's temper and personality rise to the forefront.

"This isn't fair." It wasn't a flat statement either, she rolled as much certainty and conviction into those three words as she could. "They are putting you on trial for events that likely would have happened without you at the front of the movement. They aren't taking into account the _countless_ lives you've saved, that.. that.. you were integral in saving their Primus-damned universe!" She pulled away further, to gesture expansively to the planet in whole. New Cyberton, still bearing the scars of the Functionist Universe, was a testament to that salvation.

Sensing that Flare was just getting going, Megatron retreated back to the circuit slab, sitting as he had before, hands dangling between his knees, but this time with his focus solely on the female Camien before him.

"You don't _deserve_ this, Em. You don't deserve a bunch of strangers staring down at you, passing judgment on your actions from four millennia ago. You aren't who you were." She paused, long enough to study his expression. "Don't look at me like that, Em... like I don't know what I'm talking about. I've heard all the stories. _You_ told me most of them. Minimus, and Rodimus didn't hesitate to share. Rewind had footage."

She strode forward then, making a place for herself between his knees, cupping his face in her hands so he couldn't look away. "But I _know_ you, Megatron of Tarn. I know the culmination of those experiences have forged something, someone, greater than the sum of his parts. You don't deserve this fate... to rust away in a cell."

Bending the smallest bit, Flare rest her forehead against his, the gesture achingly intimate and close. Unwilling to police his reactions any longer, Megatron placed his hands on her waist, and pulled her just a tiny bit closer. Her name escaped him in a whisper. He sought to memorize her in those moments, to have something, anything to hold onto if imprisonment was the verdict.

"You deserve to stay with me..."

"Flare, please," he began in effort to silence her. "Don't... Just... Don't make this harder on yourself."

Flare pulled her head away to study him at that, as if wondering at her own audio receptors. One corner of her mouth curved into a smirk, telling him what he already knew to be true. It was too late for that. Megatron stopped himself from tightening his grip on her.

"At least, stay away from the trial?" He was careful to pose it as a question. He did not want her last memories of him dragged through the rust and grime and grease of his past atrocities. But the choice, as it always was, lay in her hands and her hands alone. He felt the pressure of her fingers trace a cord of circuitry down his neck, and then traverse along the seam of armor across his shoulder. She was memorizing him, just as he memorized her.

"No. I won't." Flare stated, shaking her head slightly. "I won't leave you to face this alone." She didn't tell him that Clicker had promised to accompany her, that Rodimus had asked her to stand with him, that Minimus wished her to testify.

He looked stricken, about to deny her wishes, but he stopped himself. Wasn't this what he loved about the Camien? Her ability to read what he truly needed, even when he didn't know himself. "Flare.. I.."

But she turned away, responding to the sound of a polite attention-catching noise from the corridor. Minimus had returned, though he kept his attention carefully averted. Her time was up. Reaching down, Flare gently lifted Megatron's hands off her hips.

"I know," she assured him, tightening her grip. Her hands were so small compared to his, and he carefully returned the gesture, before releasing her. She retreated without another word, only glancing back as the bars re-energized upon her exit.

An unvoiced apology existed on Ultra Magnus' face as he and Megatron locked gazes for a moment. Feeling guilty, Minimus turned his attention to Flare. "Did you have enough time?"

Flare's answer was a half-hearted chuckle. "_Heh_. Two hundred years wasn't enough time, Ambus, what makes you think twenty minutes would be?"


	4. Elsewhere 02

_Left for dead but I will rise up on my own  
I could make it alone_

\- "Undefeated" by Skillet

_**ELSEWHERE**_

"Do you miss it?" Megatron asked the question softly, as he ventured into the open. Solitude was preciously hard to come by in the refugee camps. Especially for those refugees still struggling with the concept of their lot in life. He wanted to give her the opportunity to tell him to leave her be, if she so wished it.

But Flare didn't answer right away. Instead, she shifted her shoulders, an almost instinctive motion that was close to, but not quite a shrug. He couldn't help but wonder if the gesture meant more when she wasn't missing such a vital component of her sub-anatomy. The roar of thrusters, and the cumbersome shape of one of the Lunarbots taking flight held her attention. In a way, that was all the answer Megatron needed.

"I miss a lot of things," she answered after a bit of deliberation. She'd been at Nova Point barely a month, and in that time, Megatron had grown to appreciate her very deliberate word choice. He had yet to figure out if it was a forced habit, or a genuine aspect of her personality. One outburst he'd gotten from her, the first night. Since then, this careful, quiet existence.

He simply stood beside her to wait out the thoughtful silence. Together, they watched two more Lunarbots launch from the base.

"Where are they going?" She finally asked, changing the subject instead of elaborating her answer. "They know what will happen if they're caught..."

"One is delivering supplies to a sister-cell. The other two are decoys." Megatron didn't hesitate to answer. The supplies he meant were the same ones she'd spent the last few weeks helping to catalog and inventory: energon rations, medical equipment and a few assorted weapons. Supplies that had been _liberated_ by the AVL's more enthusiastic members. "They believe that the risk is worth helping other refugees. Ultimately, the choice is theirs. It is choice that threatens functionism."

She glanced his way, skeptical and disbelieving, before crossing her arms and facing the open space again. What once had been filled with mining equipment and energon stores was now dotted with scrambler units and 'bots in all stages of training. Flare tracked the trajectory for one of the Lunabots.

"Yeah, I miss it." She finally confessed, long after Megatron had given up hope of hearing an answer. He'd found Terminus among the trainees and had been watching his friend give instruction. Megatron dared to reach out, applying a light pressure to her shoulder in order to turn her away from the tableau before them. She turned, but refused to look up.

"Anode is a blacksmith. Kaput is among the finest medical professionals that I have known. Let us help you, Flare." Even entreating her, she still refused to look up. So Megatron tucked a finger under her chin, and lifted her eyes to meet his. "Let us help ease your pain."

At that, Flare drew away, uncertainty mixing with disgust on her features. She hugged herself, fingers sliding along the remains of her wing structures. "My pain isn't physical, Megatron. No amount of fixing, or repairs, or.. or... _good deeds_, will make this go away. I want my _friends_ back. I want my _life_ back. I want-" Suddenly, she cut herself off, drawing air rapidly in to cool her temper. As she took a step back, one hand was held up to ward off any attempt to reach out to her again.

"Say it," he prompted her. "Finish that thought, Flare."

Pressing her mouth tightly shut, Flare shook her head, retreating one more step.

"You need to let it out. Get it into the open. Recognize the rage and the hatred before it poisons you. You can only control it if you acknowledge it." His was the voice of experience. He was trying his best to live his beliefs. This new opportunity would not go wasted.

Silent, the gold of her optics darkening to almost amber, Flare struggled. He imagined that she had never been a particularly violent being, that the depth of her anger was a terrifying experience. She didn't want to be horrified with herself, but it was happening. She covered her face with both hands, as if that could shelter her from expressing what was going through her mind. All the while, Megatron waited patiently for the dam to break.

"I want them to pay," came the first leak. The flow of thoughts stalled as she dropped her hands, only to wring them together. She refused to look at him, as if she were ashamed of the path her thoughts took. "I... I want to see them... _stripped_ to their endoskeletons... sparks exposed.. I... I want to see the light _die_ as they do..."

Reaching to take her wrought hands, Megatron tried to express his empathy on the matter. How many times had he envisioned the death of his enemies right down to the smallest detail? He'd ceased keeping track. But as soon as his hand came to rest upon her, she knocked his comfort away, retreating a matter of strides. He held her gaze, hoping that she would decide to stay, and talk it through, but Flare dropped her gaze, turned and fled back into the abandoned mine.

For a suspended moment, Megatron entertained the idea of following her, but the sound of Terminus calling his name stopped the impulse in it's tracks.

)~( )~( )~( )~( )~( )~(

Less than a week later, the AVL had tried, and failed, to completely destroy the first planetary thruster, on purpose. Under the guise of the heated battle, Megatron had orchestrated the extraction of Orion Pax from the Council's control. Getting Pax acclimated to the mines, and making the rounds to introduce the former cop to many of the bots who owed their lives to the information Pax fed them caused Megatron to feel in higher spirits than normal.

"Of course, I remember sending you to the Dead End not so long ago," Pax was confirming as they walked side-by-side through tunnels. "Though, I'm not entirely sure what that has to do with the _smile_ that you're wearing?"

Megatron knew he'd been caught with his guard down, and debated for a moment before deciding to master himself, and tone down the expression. Pax didn't understand, but maybe he believed. Megatron was never certain who did and who didn't anymore. "She's a survivor from one of Cybertron's lost colonies." A glance forestalled the question Pax wanted to pose. "I was hoping that you'd help with her, help train her, help welcome her... since you've already got something of a rapport."

"If by rapport, you mean covering him in trash and telling him to play dead, then certainly, we have a rapport." Pax forced a chuckle at the recollection. That he'd been able to save a life by deceiving the Enforcers still made him uncomfortable. Violating one part of his ethics to uphold another. Pax hoped for a day where he wouldn't have to make such choices.

Megatron gestured for him to stop. They'd been walking through the habitation area, where smaller chambers and side-tunnels had been partitioned off to afford some illusion of privacy. Rapping lightly on the makeshift door, Megatron leaned close.

"Flare? May I interrupt? I have someone here I would like you to meet." Megatron waited a moment, glancing back to Pax to see if he could read the former-cops optics. The faceplate masked the set of his jaw, making his mood harder to read than it should be. After a few moments, Megatron heard an affirmative response from inside, and pushed the door open.

They didn't bother trying to call these _hab suites_. There was little masking what the room had once been, or what it's sole purpose was now. It was simply a recharge room, outfitted with a circuit slab that sometimes worked. Flare shared hers on a rotating cycle with two other bots, though there was little in the way of personal effects for any of the three. Flare had taken the chair away from the slipshod desk and set it against the furthest wall.

She sat with her back protected, with a small stack of data readers beside her. Megatron knew at least one of them contained the latest inventory of supplies. The others were likely historical dissertations on Cybertron. She had expressed a desire to learn, and the various data-clerks and historians among the AVL had obliged her. She rose as they entered, her gaze lingering for a moment on Megatron before shifting behind him to take in Pax's size and breadth. For all they were a similar height, Pax carried his mass distribution different, making him seem at first glance, larger.

A slow expression, not quite a smile, spread across Flare's features as she sized them up. "The Enforcer.." she noted quietly. "I get to finally thank you." Shifting the data-pad from her left, to her right hand, she offered the her empty hand in greeting.

Confusion flickered in Pax's eyes as he made a false reach for her empty hand with his right, before consciously switching appendages. "Ex-Enforcer... Orion Pax, please. I only wish I could have done more, Flare."

One corner of Flare's mouth lifted, manifesting an amused smirk. "You did plenty. I'm here, and I'm alive, thanks to you two." As she retrieved her hand once more, she crossed her arms over her chest, shrugging her shoulders as if to settle her nonexistent wings. By the slight shift of Pax's attention, he noticed, but Flare didn't give him the space to comment. "And, I feel like I owe you an apology, Megatron. I've been acerbic, and combative, at best..."

Instead of waving off the apology, Megatron nodded slowly, acknowledging her. "What you've been through is overwhelming. You need time to adjust."

She looked down at the datapad in her hand, giving Pax an opening, the low timbre of his voice softened for the task. "I have always been curious, I have always wondered for myself, if I were given the opportunity to choose who I am, to start all over again, who would I be? You have that opportunity now, Flare. To decide your own fate."

With a hand on his forearm, Megatron stopped Pax from going any further. The familiar darkening of Flare's eyes usually precipitated a verbal outburst, but this time, she stayed her thoughts. Instead, she held out the datapad, allowing Pax to take it from her. Pax read the headline on the news transcript, and then passed it silently to Megatron.

_Primal Vanguard called home in wake of interplanetary shutdown._ Megatron didn't have to look up to anticipate what was going to be said next.

"My fate was decided for me. I'll never get to go home. If I could do it again, Orion Pax... I would ask you to end me there in that alley. But I didn't. And now-" she spread both hands, to indicate her current situation.

Pax reached forward before she could formulate the rest of her thought. His much larger hands cupped beneath hers, lifting and supporting hers in a demonstration of what it mean to be a part of the AVL. "And now, you have an opportunity to take an active role, not only in your own fate, but the fate of millions of other sparks."

Megatron laid a hand atop the pair of theirs, pressing his palm to Flare's, enough that Pax had to press up, sandwiching her hand between theirs. "We cannot bring your friends back, Flare, but we can help you assure that no others will suffer as they did."

Flare retreated from the contact, pulling her hands free and backing up. Megatron wanted to tell her that the Camien's he'd known would have wanted her to fight for their memory. But he believed that she knew that. Laying his hand on Pax's arm, he gave the former lawkeeper a nudge toward the exit.

"Get some recharge while you still can, Flare." Megatron offered her the datapad back, but didn't immediately relinquish it to her keeping. "I think you could be a great asset to Cybertron, but you have to trust us a little."

When he released the datapad, she pulled it to her chassis. As he turned to go, she voiced a quiet _thank you_, giving him an actual reason to smile.

"There's that smile again," Pax observed as Megatron joined him in the tunnel. "You look pretty pleased."

With a low chuckle, Megatron continued Pax's tour through the mines. "For once, she didn't curse me, or try to throw me out. Rapport or not, Pax, you have an uncanny ability to _connect _with others."

)~( )~( )~( )~( )~( )~(

Flare knew what she had done as soon as the slab of metal that pretended to be a door closed behind Megatron and Orion Pax. In acknowledging the fact that she would never again see home, she was accepting that she was stranded on the screwed up planet. She hated the place, and the farce of a governing body that ruled it. She hated more that Solus Prime's sacred creation, the Matrix, had been corrupted into a tool of fear and destruction, worn like an ornament by the lead Councilor. The more she read of their sordid history, the more she despised that they had turned faith in the Primal sacrament into a roadmap to justifiable mass murder. But worse of all, she found herself _abhorring_ how readily she agreed with the growing tenants of the Anti-Vocationist League.

She'd had no plans to stay, no plans to make friends, no plans to allow this to become permanent. But, Flare realized that all three of those points were impossible ones. She couldn't get home; the Council had destroyed all the spaceports, and rendered those with interstellar alt-modes obsolete. Despite herself, she _liked_ her roommates, Stock And Liturak. Stock was quiet and kind, a former member of the manual class that had too much of the Council's harsh ways. Liturak was a scholar, and a student of history; he'd happily supplied Flare with most of her reading material.

Her predicament was sadly, horrifyingly, depressingly permanent. Pax and Megatron had been right. She needed to learn how to made the best of a bad situation, or admit defeat. Defeat wasn't coded into her spark. She knew that just as certainly as she knew how badly being grounded every day truly hurt her. She missed flying. She missed breaking free of planetary gravity wells, and skimming along the surface of the brown gas giant Caminus orbited. She missed laughing with her friends; she missed bickering over who could fly the fastest, over whose power cells harnessed more of the energy from the storms that they chased across the gas giant.

The more she realized she missed, the deeper she realized her anger tapped. Understanding how deep that well ran made her examine Megatron's philosophy deeper. Only by accepting the anger would she ever be able to control it. Those were words of experience, not just platitudes. She vacated her room in the last hours of the night, before Stock returned from his rubble-clearing duties in the lower tunnels.

Wandering the tunnels and chambers of the abandoned mine, Flare watched the activities of the AVL unfold around her with a different view. She could make the best of being stranded, make use of the resources the AVL offered. They could be the means to vengeance, and a pathway to redemption for her cowardice that day. She found Anode almost by accident, and the blacksmith seemed to know exactly what was on the refugee's mind.


	5. Here 01

_Because one voice is enough_

_To make Sleeping giants wake up_

_To make armies put their hands up_

_And watch whole nations stand up_

"Untraveled Road" by Thousand Foot Krutch

_**HERE**_

The _Lost Light_ was gone, just like that. In the span of time it took Rodimus to give the order, Minimus Ambus had come to the exact same conclusion. In the moment, it hadn't mattered if both captains were stranded in a foreign universe on a planet they knew nothing about. It mattered that Velocity and Perceptor had returned with the salvaged navigation system. It mattered that there was a very large spaceship entering orbit, and it mattered when that ship trained and locked all weapon systems on the _Lost Light_.

Rodimus would never fault Ambus for getting the crew and ship to safety. A rescue mission could always be mounted later. Replacing the crew, or finding another ship with quantum engines, couldn't. He was trying not to let his choices haunt him. But there was an annoying, nagging voice at the back of his brain module that wondered why all the decisions he made end up being the worse ones. The choice he made to investigate a debris field would bother him for a while yet. Following the flotsam and jetsam trail had revealed signs of an atmospheric battle on a small, scarred planet. The debris trail ended in the crash site they were raiding.

Or rather, the site they were trying to fortify against a suspected oncoming attack.

"I almost wish Whirl were here," Drift mused as he and Megatron moved another sheet of metal paneling into a better location.

"No kidding. He'd have some helo-brained scheme that would probably involve lots of explosions," Rodimus had to agree with his best friend. The moment of levity was needed. No one really knew what they were about to face. Not until the recon came back. _If_ the recon came back. Everyone was avoiding thinking on those lines.

The recon team consisted of two of their most accomplished fliers. No matter how terse and quiet Cyclonus was, he cared about those around him. There was no doubt that he would protect his reconnaissance partner without hesitation. Flare was one of the few that would be able to keep pace with him. The displaced Camien was intensely loyal to Megatron, like many that had survived the Functionist universe.

)~( )~( )~( )~( )~( )~(

Flare stayed tight to the ancient Cybertronian's flank. She was happy to give Cylconus the lead on this flight. He could worry about the how and where of their recon pattern, while she could focus on picking out all the small details. He kept their pattern low and tight to the terrain, a landscape that was primarily barren in a wide swath around the crashed ship. Flare shadowed his every movement, banking in formation, hugging the terrain. She was a former stormskimmer, aerial acrobatics had been part and parcel of her chosen profession on Caminus. Part of her couldn't help but delight at the sensation of keeping such a close formation again.

She spotted movement at the edge of the forest. She didn't recognize the shapes darting in and out of the gnarled misshapen trees. All she had to do was ping Cyclonus' comm with a vector and he knew what they were dealing with. That was the best part about Cyclonus: no unneeded chatter.

"Beastformers." He always sounded cross, but this time there was an added layer of worry. He pedaled down, slowing for a moment, before twisting hard into a turn that pointed them back to the crashed ship. He wasn't sticking around to see who the beastformers master was. Flare followed suit, but felt noticed, like she were wholly and fully exposed.

She broke formation long enough to look. A hulking figure stood shadowed in the treeline, a single, glowing blue optic watching them. Flashbacks of the Functionist Council and their expressionless octagonal faces surged to the forefront of her thoughts. As she opened her afterburners up to catch up to Cyclonus, she felt the cautious optimism she'd felt for this third universe of existence fade to nothing.

)~( )~( )~( )~( )~( )~(

"They aren't far behind us." Flare had hardly let her transformation cog wind down before she was checking weapon charges, trying to keep her hands steady. She ignored the appraising look that Megatron fixed her with. He didn't know about the single optic burned into her brain module. Two centuries and two universes removed couldn't dull the trauma suffered at the Functionist Council's whim.

There wasn't much time to prepare. No sooner was the last barricade set than the tide of beastformer's washed over the knoll. The initial estimation was wrong. There were far more than the couple of dozen they had reported. There was a swarm. Skittering, flying, scurrying, Insecticons vastly outnumbered the hunter beastformers. They hit hard and fast, acidic projectiles burning through what remained of the derelict ship.

Rodimus was the first injury, sustained as he shoved Drift out from beneath dripping acid as it chewed through the decking above their heads. The splatter landed on his trailing leg, sizzling into his armor and setting his pain receptors on fire. Megatron acted faster than anyone else, throwing dirt and dust from the floor onto the gobbets of acid. Neutralized, it sloughed off his leg, but the damage was done: a hole eaten through his plating, and affecting his ability to weight bear on that leg.

They were overrun quickly after that. Rodimus and Drift were backed into a corner together, best friends supporting one another as Insecticons crawled down the walls to surround them. Cyclonus was pinned on his back, one decidedly lupine beastformer growling as Cyclonus grappled with its jaws. Surrounded himself, Megatron waited tense and silent for the beasts to lunge. He vowed once that he would only fight to defend himself. He still held true to that tenant. But it was a narrow thing. The urge to fight his way to Flare's side was nearly overwhelming. She was hemmed in by more of the lupine beastformers, animal shapes too big to be turbofoxes, and too vicious to be domesticated in any way. Flare slowly adjusted her aim between each of the four boxing her in, just waiting to see which would twitch wrong first.

Then all at once, every Insecticon and beastformer began to speak with one voice. They were being used as a broadcast beacon. "_Under Decree Two-Hundred and Twenty-Nine, you are hereby under arrest for unlicensed salvage operation. Under Decree One-Hundred and Four, your unregistered ship, once located, will be impounded and auctioned to pay for your legal fees. You are duly accorded a trial of peers -"_

The voice cut off as the speaker stepped into the scene. Flare tensed. It had to be a helm. The octagonal faceplate didn't lend it's shape any further to the 'bot's head. A single glowing blue orb in the center gave the impression of a Grand Councilman's face. He looked carefully at each one of them, going so far as to push the beastformer off of Cyclonus, while not letting the ancient Cybertronian up. One foot landed on Cyclonus' torso, and pressed down, keeping him still. There was obvious delight in his tone as he switched gears.

"Under Article Two of Pax Cybertronia, you are _not_ duly accorded a trial of your peers. You are hereby found guilty of crimes against the Authority." The smile they could hear was gruesome, full of unmitigated delight and joy. He turned slightly to the nearest Beastformer. "My dear, stasislock all of them, would you?"

Flare had enough time to throw a terrified look in Megatron's direction before a spiderweb of energy unspooled from the beast so questioned. It sliced through the beasts and insects harmlessly, but when it touched the others, it was instant system-overload.

)~( )~( )~( )~( )~( )~(

Flare was half-aware when they were thrown unceremoniously in a cell. She knew someone landed on her. She knew _something _broke, but she couldn't tell what. She had to deal with the dead weight on top of her until someone else came round to help. So instead of fighting and struggling to get free, she simply laid still and played off-line. All she could do was review their actual predicament in detail.

New universe: check.

Hostile Cybertronians: apparently check.

Current planetary location: unknown

Current political climate: unknown

The phrase _Pax Cybertronia_ felt familiar, but she was having trouble placing it. The longer she forced herself to think, the more aware of her surroundings she became. The unmistakable hum of energy bars lodged in her head; a constant undercurrent only broken up by the occasional shift of metal against metal. A guard she figured. Even when her optics began to clear, she couldn't see past the garish colors of Rodimus Prime's shoulder, or beyond the bare wall she was facing.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was perhaps only a few more minutes, Rodimus stirred, groaning and rolling immediately off of her. Grateful to be free of his weight, Flare sat up, wincing, and grabbed for her shoulder.

"Slag, your wing," Rodimus kept his voice low. For once, Flare thought she heard actual concern there. A quick glance around showed Drift sitting up slowly, cradling his head. But Megatron and Cyclonus had been separated from them, given a cell across the hall. Rodimus motioned Drift over and the two of them reached for Flare.

"It's fine," she snapped, flinching away as one of them touched the broken strut.

"Let them help, Flare," Megatron counseled her from across the hall. He was helping Cyclonus up without actively appearing to help. The older Cybertronian was prideful, after all. The sense of Megatron's smile was lost through the haze created by the energy bars, but he hoped she could sense it. "You can't fly, or fight with that injury. We're already at a disadvantage." Megatron continued, quietly pointing out the fact that Rodimus still hadn't attempted to actually walk on his damaged leg.

"It really doesn't look that bad, Flare." Drift sounded cheerful as he crouched down. "Just looks like a piece here kind of popped out? I bet I can just reseat it and let your self-preservation protocols take it from there."

"Just... Just do it, Drift. Em's right, we can't afford to be at half-strength." Before she'd fully finished the sentence, Drift did was he was told. Just like when it had dislocated, the strut seating back in did so with a bright flash of pain. Aside from swearing to Solus softly under her breath, Flare bore it out without complaint.

Across the hall, Cyclonus and Megatron both were examining the cell and the energy field holding them captive. Drift began to do the same thing, stepping as close to the bars as he dared. The greatsword was missing, so he couldn't test it's ability to channel energy long enough to enable escape.

"There's a guard at the end of the hall," Flare told them quietly. "And I think they hit us all with inhibitor locks." She reached out, grabbing the nodule on the back of Rodimus' neck and giving it, therefore _him, _a shake.

"Ambus will come back for us." Rodimus looked up from gingerly poking a finger at his own gaping wound. He supposed the bonus of it having been caused by acid was that he'd not lost any energon. No leaks, no drips, not even an open fuel line to be seen. He was just lucky that Megatron had neutralized the acid before it ate through his endoskeleton.

"Ambus is stupid if he does." Cyclonus crossed his arms, scowling across the bars.

Megatron completed a circuit of his shared cell, and picked a wall to settle down against. "If Ambus returns, Cyclonus is right, it would be a fools move. Minimus Ambus is not a fool, by any stretch of the imagination. No. He'll wait for us to signal him."

"And what do you expect us to do until then, huh, co-Captain? Sit and wait?" When Rodimus raised his voice, Flare smacked his shoulder, and shushed him.

"Sit and watch. Learn. And find the opportunity we need." Megatron offered, knowing he was counseling a patience that Rodimus didn't possess. Hopefully, Drift would help keep the brash, impulsive youth in check. In the end, it was Rodimus' wound that kept him down and quiet. A low amicable silence settled over the prisoners.

Megatron knew without asking that Cyclonus was acutely aware of his surroundings, even though the ancient Cybertronian appeared to be shut down and resting. Across the hall, Flare sat apart from the other two, leaning against a wall in such a way that it supported her damaged wing strut. He couldn't, and wouldn't ask how the healing was going. He wouldn't make her seem weak in front of those she hardly knew.

After a while, the guard came sauntering down between the cells. The octagonal helm he'd been wearing til that point was tucked under his arm. A naggingly familiar face peered through the energy bars, first at Megatron, then at Rodimus. "Lucky you," he mused, leaning over slightly to get a better look at the markings on Drift's face and armor. "Spared from a clean, simple death."

He chuckled when the confusion registered. Tucking his helm beneath his other arm, the 'bot shrugged when his meaning was questioned. "Sounds like Jhiaxus wants the bunch of you as his personal toys. You should make your peace with your _Primus. _You have about a day before the flagship arrives."

As horrified looks started to pass between bars, and 'bots, the guard laughed aloud and continued his patrol, heading deeper into the cell block. As soon as the guard was out of sight, Cyclonus stood up, pressing his hands against the ceiling of the cell, examining every inch of the structure, even though it had been done shortly before.

"This is bad," Drift admitted. "Did you hear the way he said Primus? Like, he didn't believe?"

"Honestly, you're the only non-colonist I've ever met who's openly espoused that kind of deep faith." Flare didn't stand, but she leaned as close as she dared to the bars again, peering down the hallway after the guard. "We're not the only ones down here. He's going to gloat at someone else."

In his own cell, Megatron mirrored her position by the bars, following her gaze deeper into the cell block. The fleeting thought was there to reach out to her through the bars, to sacrifice his own arm to offer Flare comfort. It hurt to see the brilliant edge of her attitude dulled by the acceptance of a fate worse than death. He'd told her all the stories of Jhiaxus. She knew. She was rightfully afraid.

Before he could offer any thoughts, the guard had circled back around, a smug grin on his face. Seeing how close Flare lingered to the energy bars, he struck them, causing a surge of power and shower of sparks to cascade in her face. The venom in his chuckle lingered behind, as Flare pulled away, trying to clear her vision. She pushed Drift away twice before he got the message.

Captivity made every sound down the corridor suspect. Every clang, crunch, and rattle drove the expectation of their collective fate deeper into their sparks. Drift didn't allow Rodimus to sulk; they carried on an intermittent, silted conversation that circled around every possible escape attempt. Ultimately, they agreed to make a move during transfer, in the hopes that just maybe they would be spared from stasis lock.

Cyclonus keyed into the noise change first, sitting up a little straighter and peering toward the sneering guard's post at the front of the corridor. Megatron confirmed with a nod that indeed had sounded like weapon fire. Flare took notice at the first loud crash from beyond. The crash heralded the complete loss of power to the entire cell block. Lights blinked out, plunging them into a relative darkness, illuminated only by personal lights and the faint glow of adjusting optics. A moment later the energy bars keeping them captive fizzled out.

Flare was up and out of her cell in a snap, unwilling to get trapped again. She pressed herself flat against the corridor wall, as running footsteps came closer. Drift reached for a greatsword that had been confiscated, realizing woefully that they were unarmed, and likely outnumbered. Light spilled down the corridor as bulkhead doors were forced open, and figures, bots like themselves, forced their way through.

"Nightshade, Damus, go find Windcharger! I'll hold the line!" A familiar voice gave the command, sending two soldiers down the corridor towards the stranded crew of the _Lost Light_. The less bulky of the two drew up short when they realized there were others in the corridor. Female in body shape, it stepped before the shorter, bulkier of the two, a glowing purple blade held out defensively.

"Boss, five unknowns between us and Magic Arms." Tonal voice marked her female as well, even if her features were fully shrouded in shadow. "Threat assessment minimal, unknowns are unarmed and low-reserve."

"Continue, Nightshade. Find Windcharger. Damus, take the door. You know what to do." In a brief exchange of movement, the sword-bearing female moved down the corridor cautiously before breaking into a run. Damus, his armor a dull burnished gold, traded positions with the jailbreak coordinator at the door.

As the leader got closer, Flare's bravado crumpled. There was no mistaking him as he drew close: tall, boxy, silver faceplate guarding his expression.

"Pax..." Flare whispered his name, unable to believe her own optics. Her tone mirrored the expression on Rodimus' face, and buried in Megatron's spark.


	6. Elsewhere 03

_I see you out there  
I'm lost in the blue  
I'm part of the world but I cannot have you  
Cause I am deserted and you are too deep  
I cannot love you without losing me_

\- "Island" by Svrcina

_**ELSEWHERE**_

"She'll be in the Spire," Pax assured Megatron as they made their way through the maze of tunnels and chambers that riddled Nova Point.

"How are you so sure?"

"She likes to be up high when she has something to think about. Training to fight is one thing, my friend, being asked to participate in a pitched battle, a pivotal point in a war, is another thing entirely." Pax clapped the shoulder of the bot walking beside him. Together they took a left fork that began to angle upwards, toward the surface. "She's ready, of that I have no doubt. She learns quickly, but she's angry, Megatron. Angry bots make mistakes."

Silent for a few moments, Megatron reminded himself that he had no right to feel jealous. Pax had grown close to Flare. What had been blind hope was becoming reality: Flare was coming out of her shell. And it had all started after she'd officially met Pax. Megatron considered himself lucky that she'd simply stopped yelling at him.

"She needs to learn how to control, and channel that anger. You and I will be there, Terminus too. Between us we can reel her back."

Pax could only agree, before the two of them forced a bulkhead door open wider. Neither of them would have fit through the opening Flare used to gain access to the old stairwell. The Spire had long since been powerless, all lines diverted below ground, to help continue the illusion that the mines were abandoned, and not home to more than three-hundred Anti-Vocationist League fighters and refugees. They fell into a comfortable and companionable silence as they climbed the stairs.

About halfway up, Pax broke the silence again. "Have you gotten her to smile yet? Really smile?" The befuddled look from Megatron caused that very expression to surface on Pax, though it was hidden behind the faceplate. "She's always so serious. Even Kaput smiles. Anode."

"I'm lucky she doesn't yell at me." Megatron chuckled, looking up the spiral of stairs. The maglift in the center of the Spire hadn't been operational for years, estimating the time it would take to ascend helped the ache in his spark. "I'm fairly certain she hates me." He didn't bother to hide the wistful tone. He admired Flare; her strength, the deliberate way she spoke, the sheer honesty in every interaction she had.

It was Pax's turn to laugh, the sound warm and echoing in the cold stairwell. "Believe me, my friend, hate is the least she harbors toward you. Oh, don't scowl like that, it's true! She told me so herself."

"She holds you in far deeper confidence than she ever will see me."

"So, stop treating her like glass." Pax stopped, grabbing Megatron's arm when the other bot didn't. "She might look delicate, but she's not. Join us next cycle, at training. She packs a punch. You might be just the thing to get her smiling." Taking two steps up, Pax joined Megatron for a moment. "And while you're at it, bring one of your poetry slugs. She's been looking for something different to read, aside from horrifically dry histories, and military treaties."

Pax forged upward, leaving Megatron to stare after him, until the corridor was only illuminated by the ambient glow of his own optics. Pax was trying to help him. Was this really what friendship with the Optimus Prime of his universe would have been like? Megatron had to wonder, if life had taken them on different journeys, if the war had never happened, they could have been friends. Realizing he was being left behind, Megatron hurried up the stairs.

The top of the Spire had once held the command center for the mines below. From the Spire, one could look out over Iacon. The great sprawling city lay to the west, edifices of light and architechture lay like a glittering facade over the corruption beneath. The barrens lay east and north, a rough, ragged landscape that aided in hiding the AVL from prying eyes. Beneath the stark landscape networked the mines they currently took refuge within. On a clear day, the Mithril Sea to the south could be barely spotted at the horizon, a faint gleaming line in the distance.

Flare had an aerial alternate mode. It only made sense that she would enjoy the view from on high. Anode had taken great care in repairing her damaged and mutilated anatomy. Megatron would never believe her claims that she never experienced any physical pain from the damage. It had just been too extensive.

Entering the first level of the command room, Pax took a quick glance around before pointing higher, towards the observation deck. A ladder had been rigged to the uppermost level, and on the darkness of the platform, they could both barely make out a darker shape. When Megatron joined him, Pax held a hand out, stalling his friend from action.

After a moment, in the still quiet, it became apparent why. Flare was humming, musically. A set of notes that rose and fell in a slow cadence, as if she wasn't certain. Or perhaps, trying to remember the proper sequence.

"_I am an island; you are the ocean..._" Soft but clear, Flare was singing. On some level, Megatron knew that most Camien's practiced some manner of art form. Solus Prime, their progenitor, had been the Forgemaster and crafter of the sacred Matrix, after all. But knowing it from his own universe, and witnessing it in this one, proved to be two very different things. She fell back to humming, the words, perhaps, escaping her.

Pax tried to understand the expression his friend was wearing. Slack-jawed, Megatron stared up at the the shadows, hands loose and inactive at his sides.

"_No, I cannot have you... I cannot have you without... drowning_..." Her tone soured, falling flat at the end, and she made an angry, frustrated sound.

When Pax moved to take another step forward, Megatron caught his arm, stalling him. In silence, the displaced former-tyrant pointed back from hence they came, indicating that they perhaps should give her a modicum of privacy. To pretend they hadn't heard her singing to an empty window beyond which only stars listened. Without taking too long to consider, Pax nodded, and the two of them quietly retreated.

Flare's voice rose again, in their wake. "_I'm part of this world, but I cannot have you._" She seemed to gain confidence, sure of the words and the rate of the melody finally. "_'Cause I am deserted and you are too deep. I cannot love you, without losing me..._"

The words stung, and stuck hard, like barbs right in the core of his spark. Did she mean that? Where those words meant for him? For Pax maybe? Or for someone else. Stock, or Liturak, perhaps. Neither the old construction bot, or the quiet academic seemed like they had enough force of personality to drown her. Megatron's mind raced even as the two of them stopped just outside the command center entrance, the heavy blast doors propped open, hydraulics rusted and inert.

"Did you know she could sing like that?" Pax sounded like he was smiling.

Struck mute with his racing thoughts, Megatron could only shake his head. Of course Pax wouldn't have suspected. Camiens were relative unknowns. None of the colonies had been discovered because of the Functionist Council's unrelenting xenophobia. There would be no awakening Titans, no extrastellar travel. If Luna 2 had never flown past Caminus, the delegation Flare had arrived with would never have ventured toward Cybertron.

Trying to pull himself out of the tailspin of thoughts, Megatron glanced back into the dim command center. As he did, both his and Pax's communicators dinged. Pax was quicker to check his.

"Nine-of-Twelve. It's time." Blue optic met scarlet ones. Pax shrugged. "Why don't I go stall the Inquisitor, while you bring Flare in?"

Divide and conquer usually worked. Before a coherent answer could be given, Pax was already heading down the corridor, rapidly disappearing from sight. This time, instead of sneaking in on her, he called her name as he turned back to the opening. Before he needed to call her name a second time, she ventured to the edge of the balcony.

"It's time," he confirmed without her having to ask.

Silent, she descended the ladder instead of using her wings, or the repaired propulsion thrusters built into her root mode. He wanted to come right out and ask her why. Why did she fear flying? Why did she fear her own alt mode? But he couldn't. Not with the way she carefully touched the blank span of metal just at the base of her neck. Her eyes were focused on his own mark, the scarlet lines of the neat, symmetrical First Face emblazoned against the white of his armor.

"You don't have to chose this." Carefully covering the Autobot insignia, Megatron waited a moment until Flare looked up at him. "This isn't about proving loyalty, fealty, or your strength, Flare. Where I come from, this is an honorable, and deeply personal commitment. This insignia is a promise to always treat others equally, to give them the space to be more than what they may seem. Just because others in the AVL are adopting this, does not mean that you have to."

Little by little, he let his hand uncover the mark of the Autobots, sigil that had only grown in meaning and symbolism to him over the years. He was flattered, and humbled that so many of the AVL wanted to take it up as their own symbol now. Perhaps, he was even more humbled that Flare had been among those who wished it in this most recent batch.

"No, it's not about any of that. Honor, loyalty, fealty, those are all such pretty concepts. Is there even space for them to exist in this culture? When their own eyes are used to spy on one another, there is no honor, or loyalty." She wasn't comfortable talking to him like that, her attention diverted repeatedly, settling on everything but Megatron's face. "This planet is slag. The grave dug so deep that you can't see the sky anymore. But..." She looked up then, her amber optics locking with his. She was searching for some sign of emotion from him, but he was far too practiced at hiding those thoughts. "This is about no longer being _alone_, Megatron. I don't want to be lonely anymore. Maybe this-" She raised a hand, but stopped short of ever touching him, her fingers hovering over the insignia. "- will help remind me that there is life beyond the anger, beyond the vengeance."

Megatron couldn't help but smile. Somewhere, something had gotten through. Probably one of the many conversations he'd witnessed her in with the former Enforcer. Later, he would thank Orion Pax for the small blessing. Before she could withdraw her hand, he clasped it, pressing her palm against his chestplate. The Autobrand lay directly over his spark casing, a spark that had never been birthed, or harvested in this universe.

"None of us are truly alone, Flare." He told her, squeezing her hand. "It may seem that way sometimes, but all you need do is look around, and you will find the hand of friendship extended and waiting. The choice is yours, Flare, but... I would very much like to be able to call you _friend_."

Flare's fingers twitched, and Megatron allowed her to slip away easily. He did not want her to feel trapped or obligated. He hoped he had not lost her, that by offering a solid friendship on top of the impending Autobrand, he hadn't pushed her away. Thinking about it, Flare rolling one shoulder slightly, causing the panels of her alt-forms wing to shift slightly, contracting to hold closer against her back than before.

"I would like that. Friends."

For a moment, just a brief moment, Flare smiled. It was no smirk, nor a false grin to satisfy him. But a real smile, one that made him determined to see her through the pit of anger and self-loathing she was mired in. She appeared on the verge of saying something else, but the communicator on his hip chirped.

"Ah, they are waiting on us." Megatron apologized in tone and gesture. "Shall we?"


End file.
